


Double Play

by EdibleNonsense



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Baseball, Blonde Launch (Dragon Ball), Character Study, F/M, Feelings, Standing too close and realizing things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28778418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdibleNonsense/pseuds/EdibleNonsense
Summary: Yamcha teaches Launch a bit about baseball.
Relationships: Launch/Yamcha (Dragon Ball)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 6





	Double Play

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this as a super rough and short fic for a prompt on Tumblr probably a year ago, but today I dedicated far too much time to beefing this up enough to feel good about publishing it on here as well. Might as well, you know? It's been a hot minute since I've posted, after all.

_CRACK._

The sun beat down on the asphalt, turning the mound into a blazing kiln. Yamcha quickly dropped his bat next to him, instead reaching his hands up to shade his eyes as the baseball flew further and further from his place on home base out into the open outfield. Thankfully, no one else was even in sight to see the ridiculously impressive swing; a small miracle considering how much effort he put into hiding that he could likely decimate the other human players he often went up against if need be. In fact, the only other person who had dared to walk outside their air conditioned house today was—

“Hey, Yamcha!”

“What?” he called back just as loudly to the source of the voice, his ponytail whipping around as he turned in her direction. 

“How the hell did ya do that without breaking the bat?!” Launch yelled, her hands stuffed leisurely in her olive green pockets. From her place in the dugout under the shade, she had a pretty good view of the field, from what he could tell. 

He shrugged, immediately jogging over closer to be able to talk. Hopping the short railing with one hand so he didn’t have to walk around all the way to the entrance, he stood with a dopey grin on his face as he watched her sit down on the solid metal bench, ankles crossed. Even though he had enthusiastically offered it to anyone he talked to on the regular, almost no one actually took him up on his suggestion to attend. 

Well, sure, Bulma had sporadically come to a few games years ago when they were still together donned in oversized sunglasses, a sunhat with a brim twice the circumference of her head, and about six different kinds of premium sodas packed for her and Puar which got promptly downed about thirty minutes in, and Tien always managed to find it within himself to keep his mouth shut and nod convincingly enough whenever he rambled on and on about hits and runs and batting averages, but neither were what Yamcha would call fans of the sport. Krillin had appeared far more genuine in his offers to come and cheer him on, but what with a new baby to take care of and the urgent need for a more formal job on the horizon… it looked like it wasn’t meant to be. 

At least, not right now. And Yamcha knew how often ‘not right now’ could slip into ‘never’ if he wasn’t delicate enough. So, for both their sakes, he decided to not push the subject any more.

Months went by, and he made a concerted effort to scale back on his sales pitch, especially among his closest friends, but the problem still remained. Playing against other people who weren’t used to training their ki made it tough to go all out in the middle of matches. More often than not, he’d end up mindlessly bunting as gently as possible just to extend the playtime— for not only the fans who had paid for a full game, but also the other team. Merchandise sales made up roughly half of the league’s profits. 

It worked out for everyone.

Well, almost everyone. But folding a dogear in that book of complaints never made him feel any better, as he had found time and again. What was that one quote? Insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results? The more he thought about it, the more it rang true. So, he made a concerted effort to act differently instead of the same. At this point, he had nothing to lose.

“Do you wanna… try playing a bit?” 

Back in the present, he spoke quickly and then turned to face the field again, focusing on the soft tips of the springtime grass swaying just enough to catch his eye even from far away. They were working in harmony, almost like droplets in waves washing up on a shimmering beach. Visions of the four of them sitting around the table at Kame House floated in the back of his mind. Those memories almost felt like they happened a lifetime ago, now. 

She seemed to pause for a moment in thought, and when he looked back, he noticed that her dark green eyes were looking past him to the same grass he had been staring so intently at moments before. For some reason, in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but note how elegant she looked when thinking quietly like that. He took in the curve of her cheekbones and the way her tangled hair fell past her shoulders and caught the sun whenever turned her head. No one had ever used that term to describe her before, to his knowledge, but right here and now he knew there was no other word possible that fit.

Spurred on by some invisible force, he spoke up again quickly. “I mean, uh, I can teach you. If you haven’t tried it before.” To his benefit, he tried hard not to sound too excited, but quickly realized his effort was in vain once the words left his mouth.

 _You really have to learn to just play it cool, man,_ he internally berated himself once more. _She’s going to just say no anyway. No need to act all… desperate._ After all, he was fully aware of how poorly everyone reacted to that particular personality trait of his whenever it reared its ugly head. 

But, wonder of wonders, she seemed to perk up a tiny bit at the hesitant offer instead of shooting him one of her trademark withering looks. Tearing her stare away from the field in front of them, Launch shrugged and muttered after a short pause, “Sure. Why not?”

A jolt of electricity flowed through him at her acquiescence. Clapping his hands together once, he immediately bent down to search in his bag for any extra equipment, a smile stretching across his face. “Nice!” 

If he were being honest, he hadn’t expected this outcome, but for some reason that just made it all the sweeter. 

After ushering her out of her seat— receiving only minimal groans about having to stand directly in the blazing sun while in long pants, which he quickly assured her she would get used to — Yamcha got into place at the pitcher’s mound winding up as Launch slumped near home plate, spare bat loosely held in her grip. 

“Hey, dumbass! What the hell was _that?_ ” she roared incredulously after a particularly early swing failed to connect with the dirt-stained ball. Out of both their sight, it rolled back, hitting the caging with a small metallic clink.

All Yamcha could do was laugh again. It wasn’t the first time someone else on the field had blamed their lack of athleticism on his fast pitches, so the words barely registered as an insult in his mind. Not that her outbursts got under his skin anyway. It had only taken a few interactions with her when they first met— _How many years ago was that now?_ he thought to himself amusedly in the back of his mind— in this state for it to be clear that she wasn’t the type to hold back in word or in deed, and so, almost like water taking the shape of the container it was in, he adjusted his expectations accordingly. 

And weirdly enough, even with all the fuss she caused, there were times he almost preferred her brazen replies to the sweet but hollow stock phrases he heard so often coming from the mouths of other people around him. At times the blonde side of her felt like a social lightning rod— too dangerous to cozy up against for more than a brief moment, but too essential to the dynamic of the group to write off as just another irritant. The same duality that left her drifting around like a renegade in life also afforded her the courage to shout things that most people wouldn’t dare to whisper. For some reason, he couldn’t help but respect her for embracing that duality instead of fighting it. The more time he spent with her, the more he realized just how rare that quality was.

The more he thought about what was going through his mind, the stranger it all sounded. _Whatever._ Instead of continuing down that line of thought, he shook his head and brought himself back down to Earth. 

Standing up straight and cupping his hand around his mouth, he called to her again. “I’m telling you, you gotta stand with your legs further apart! Your center of gravity is off. Not to mention, you’re holding it completely— ok, you know what?” Instead of continuing to yell across the field, he let the remaining baseballs he was balancing in his right hand fall to the ground as he jogged over closer. “Here, let me show you.” 

Once he was within a foot of where she was standing, the first thing he noticed was the way she turned her head to follow his own as he approached. She didn’t look annoyed. Just the opposite in fact, her eyes widening as he got close enough to see a small cut on her cheek that hadn’t completely healed yet. He had the strange and completely random urge to reach out and run his finger along it but quickly put it out of his mind. And for the first time in his life, he wondered what kind of motorcycle she owned. He had never thought to ask before. 

Instead, he stood directly behind her and reached around her shoulders to hold her grip on the bat, placing his hands squarely over hers. The curls spilling out from her ribbon tickled his chin. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the part in her hair from where he was standing. Using his right foot to nudge her leg slightly over to the side, he motioned to turn her foot further out facing the opposite side.

“See?” he continued a bit too quickly. Gently sliding her folded hands to the bottom of the bat instead of the middle where she had currently been gripping it, he added in what he hoped was a knowledgeable tone, “You can’t just stand normally, you gotta take into account the fact you’re taking a step forward when you swing.”

A second went by when neither of them spoke, each just standing where they were. He could hear her breathing slightly, a bit louder than the wind off in the distance. To his right, the handles of his gym bag fluttered on the ground in the dugout almost out of the corner of his view. Nothing else moved. Suddenly, he was starkly aware of the warmth of her hands curled securely under his.

“Y-Yeah.” Sounding uncharacteristically serious, Launch seemed to be focused entirely on the bat. She hadn’t even looked up when he moved her hands, but she was now standing up even straighter than before.

Yamcha gulped once, pasting a smile on his face even though she was facing down and away from him. “Seriously, just keep practicing! Don’t uh, sell yourself short.” 

Untangling himself from her, he reached out and almost as if by accident he gave her an amicable clasp on the back as a show of support. The same gesture his coach used for him. Somehow this exchange felt a lot different than that situation, but he tried to put that incongruence out of his mind. Just to keep it light. They had known each other for forever, after all. This level of contact wasn’t strange at all. But, a wave of confusion overtook him, and unsure what to do next, he made the worst choice possible: he froze in place.

To his intrigue, instead of jumping away or shouting, she leaned in a bit more, resting more of her back against his hand. The two stood like that for a moment, only a moment. Then, he coughed lightly and jerked the hand away, pointedly choosing to not pay attention to the odd feelings swirling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Wanna try a few more times before we wrap it up?” he tossed over his shoulder as he walked away, keeping his voice as breezy as he could. 

A second went by with no reply. And then a quiet, “Sure. Sounds good,” reached his ears.

**Author's Note:**

> I never know how to end short fics like this.


End file.
